Claws of Despair
by Fata Obstant
Summary: Warder dies, misery ensues.


**Claws of Despair**   
****

The confusion and chaos swarmed around her, but Saire was a mask of imperturbable equanimity. Walking briskly from one injured Borderguard soldier to the next, she Healed their wounds with quick efficiency. She could sense Tassin's thoughts, and she felt his presence with complete clarity as his figure trailed stealthily behind her. He made no attempt to conceal his belief that she was pushing her endurance too far. It was probably true, Saire reflected as she wove the necessary Healing weaves, but this was her duty now. 

Flicker, and flash.

She knelt beside the soldier, opening herself to the sweet embrace of Saidar, then weaving the simple tapestry of flows to probe him for any wounds. The abrupt flash of Tassin's surprise sliced through her concentration like a knife in butter, and she whirled from the man to hear the clang of steel against Thakandar-forged metal, to see her warder dancing in a duel with one of the Eyeless. Fear grabbed her in its fateful claws and refused to release her from its unconscious grip. The unperceivable threads wove a tapestry of paralyzing dread; she could only watch, haplessly caught in the web of terror. Only after she could persuade the panic to leave was she able to summon her Aes Sedai calm, and with it, the One Power. The lightning bolt that she called, however, was not fast enough. The sensation of a sharp wound in Tassin's side seared through her mind, and her warder fell to the ground. 

Flicker, and flash.

She sat in the seat of the wagon, the rain pelting on her head and splattering heavily on the thin blanket that she had used to cover Tassin. He lay in the back of the wagon, groaning softly in somewhat-dulled pain. Saire had been able to do nothing other than partially heal the wound; the taint was too strong for her to remove on her own. She clucked anxiously to the already-galloping mare, urging the horse forward through the pelting drops of ominous rain. 

Through the night's darkness, she could see the dim glow of an inn in the distance. An impulsive bolt of lightning crackled in the tenebrous sky, striking a shadow-shrouded tree that fell to the ground fairly close behind them. Saire leaned forward father, urging the horse, all the time sensing Tassin's painful shifts from one uncomfortable position to another. Another crack of lightning speared from the menacing clouds... 

* * * 

...and Saire awoke to find herself drenched in cold sweat, shivering, clutching the covers that blanketed her bed. She forced herself to relax her tense grip, aberrant shudders still stabbing through her thin frame. An unsought tear leaked from her left eye, tracing a path from her cheek to her chin, and she wiped the trail away with the yellow flowered quilt. Forcefully she pushed that accursed thought away, the painful recollection that caused the tear... The elegiac dream was back, wordlessly acknowledged the susurrant whisper of her rustling thoughts. She stood slowly and padded to the austere mirror in her room. Save for her sleepy eyes, she appeared to be the epitome of tranquility. Her emotions, raging with the unrelenting pierces of torturous grief even after these five long years had elapsed, were another thing of which to speak. 

She slipped into the green dress she so often wore; any color but yellow, she reflected, was good enough for her. Her shawl, fringed in amber-colored threads, hung unused in her wardrobe. She could not bring herself to wear it, to acknowledge to herself her place in the Ajah that she had chosen upon being raised. She had failed her purpose, her duty, and her silent, self-created punishment had ensued. 

Lighting a candle, she picked the holder up by the handle and pushed open the creaking door. The familiar path she knew well; night after night she had sought refuge in the Tower Library, searching ways to cure various injuries, to draw out the taint of a Myrddraal's blade. The books that she perused, as well, were just as familiar, for she knew them almost by heart. 

Upon reaching the library, the Brown sister already there smiled sympathetically. Saire managed a weak smile in return, and the Brown--Misara Sedai, Saire believed--knew more than to question her unusual actions. She had been too frequent a nocturnal visitor in the past five years. 

She welcomed the monotony of the books, and they drew her into comforting protection, words that swirled around her mind as she allowed the print to push away all remembrances. But she was too weary, too worn out to concentrate, and seductive slumber beckoned. 

* * * 

Saire sat restlessly on the small bed in which Tassin lay, ignoring the persistent headache that enshrouded her consciousness. He mumbled soft words, their apologetic tone forever to haunt her. The storm had passed, but there was no way to reach Tar Valon without traversing through its fearsome hell. Too dangerous to go, and yet, too dangerous to stay, for Saire could do nothing to Heal Tassin any more. She had Healed the wound as best she could after the Eyeless had died, writhing and screaming. And then she had woven whatever possible to prolong his life, and now, she had no strength left to try again. Perhaps if he made it through the night, if the storm had passed by morning, if the mare had rested enough over night, perhaps they could reach Tar Valon and the sanctuary of fully-rested Yellow sisters. 

Perhaps not. There were too many ifs to consider. She jerked her yellow-fringed shawl tighter over her body, as if to gain strength from it. She dared not tap Tassin's, for that would surely kill him. A crack of thunder crashed in the distance. 

If only she could have woven the lightning bolt faster, if only her damnable fear had not paralyzed her this time. . . . Saire pushed the thoughts from her mind, violently, and Tassin shook his head slowly. "No, Saire, do not tell yourself there is hope. You will have only father to fall. We both know.." He shook his head again; his advice, gasped through labored breaths, was something she could not follow. 

And so she mimicked the movement of his head, and slowly turned her head from side to side. "Perhaps you will live through the night, my bonded, and perhaps by the morning I will have strength enough to Heal you." She threaded forced enthusiasm into the inconceivable sentence, but she could not make herself say that he would live. The Oaths did not allow it. 

Tassin simply gazed at her with despondent, jaded blue eyes, and she could sense the defeated, melancholy thoughts that could only come from a dying man. Saire clasped her hands together, half in a beseeching prayer to the Creator and half as a comforting motion. Tassin shifted his position, and she could feel his strength quickly ebbing. 

"Saire." His voice, usually something in which she could take refuge, was now barely more than a insubstantial whisper. He reached to grip her forearm weakly, the now-thin fingers barely able to keep their hold. "It was not your fault, Saire." She opened her mouth to protest, but with the minute shake of Tassin's head, she paused. 

"Promise me, my bonded.." The ghostly stirring of such a voice sent rippling shivers down her spine. "Promise me..that you.." Tassin's hoarse breathing echoed loudly in the stillness of the night's air. "You will. . . ." 

No sound followed the softly-breathed words. The faint flame that was Tassin's presence flickered from Saire's mind, and she collapsed limply next to him, on the bed, burying her head on the pillow beside the one on which Tassin's head rested. The tears that moistened the pillow did not seem to be hers. . . . 

* * * 

When she awoke in the library, a glistening trail of tears traced a path down Saire's cheek, forming a puddle on the left page of the book. Burnt out was the candle resting next to her, the wax still soft in its randomly-formed sculptures. The grey light of early morning filtered in, accentuating the black circles under her eyes that heralded the approach of another weary day. 


End file.
